


Sleep (tarlos)

by trxtr



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: 9-1-1 Lone Star Week 2020, Angst, Boy x boy, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sad Ending, Sleep, Songfic, Terminal Illnesses, Whump, Whumptober, bxb - Freeform, lone star
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26673790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trxtr/pseuds/trxtr
Summary: Theres a moment where there's peace, just enough to keep Carlos calm, and then that peace overtakes them, and panic creeps in.Based off of the song "Sleep," by Eric Whitacre.
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand, TK Strand/Owen Strand
Comments: 17
Kudos: 50





	Sleep (tarlos)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm Trick, ad my brand is angst. I am new to writing on ao3, and I don't think I've written a one shot since 2018, or early 2019, but I have written since, don't worry! I love lone star, it's my favorite show, and Tarlos is my favorite ship, so I would really appreciate it of you all would give me input !! :) I am a huge fan of a good chunk of lone star writers on ao3, so I hope I can make a decent name for myself on here, and befriend some of you! My inbox is always open!
> 
> So without further ado,
> 
> Sleep.
> 
> **TW: Terminal illness, Major character death, mentions in detail of 9/11, drug use.**
> 
> I AM STILL EDITING, SORRY FOR ANY MISTAKES

_The evening hangs beneath the moon._

When TK Strand was eight years old, his small elementary school was painfully close to the worst, most heartbreaking tragedy in modern American history.

He remembered that day. Smoke came through the vents in his classroom, loud crashes came from the destruction just blocks away, and all little Tyler could do was sit under his desk, hands over his head, crying, coughing and sputtering, and he wasn't even there. He wasn't even _in the towers._

He couldn't remember if the tightness in his chest was because of the fear or the smoke. Windows were broken by debris falling, flying hundreds of feet to his sad little Manhattan elementary school. It stood at a mere twenty feet tall, a sad comparison to the ninety-four stories of tragedy that shadowed over it for at least half the day. 

But that day, it was so early in the morning, that the sun didn't have a chance to even peek out from there side of the building before the smoke began to cast a shadow over half the city. Tk couldn't even remember what daylight looked like, sitting in his dark classroom, thinking about how his father dropped him off the hour before, on the way to work.

So, no, he wasn't there, but he was.

His father had been the only remaining member of the 252, after all was said and done. He had been stuck in the hospital for four days, because, true to his nature, Owen Strand didn't know when to stop. Tk would learn later that his father _refused_ to leave his fallen brethren, every time he would come out, sprinting back in to retrieve another body; another corpse, until time inevitably ran out.

Tk never really understood the extent of his father's guilt, nor his pain, until after he he found oxy. 

It was because of a middle school heartbreak that Tk let himself get addicted. He was introduced to the pill after rolling his ankle at the skating rink with his (boy)friend. They ended up heading back to his apartment, where he swore up and down that his father took them all the time for pain after he had a surgery on his shoulder. Tk never read the label, he figured that he could trust the boy. He thought they were in love. They acted like it, as much as fourteen year olds could. 

That visit became another, and another became another, until Tk inevitably would start to show up at his doorstep with tears in his eyes, needing another fix, either of his boy or his pill, never knowing which.

And he would always be welcomed by warm strong arms, and a gentle: "Tyler, it's late."

Tk was still Tyler at that point. Frankly, that's most of what he could remember from the awkward, drug induced high school haze that sometimes plagued his mind.

Every time the other would call him by his name, his high would grow stronger; happier. It was euphoric. It was beautiful, the way they thought they knew each other so well.

And then, one day, a phone call came through, and Tk could never hear his name in the same way again.

A drug raid was proven fatal for the other, his nameless counterpart. He chose not to remember his name, since he could barely remember his own. All he knew was that, from the start of freshman year on, he no longer had his personal high, and he had to make do.

And to know that he could have saved him; could have made him quit, or not leave, or not get caught that night, put himself in his father's mind, thinking about the heroes of the towers, how he could have saved them, if he had more time, or just hadn't responded at all.

And, well, we all know the story from there.

_A silver thread on darkened dune._

Texas was simultaneously the worst and best thing that had ever happened to him.

It opened so many doors for the youngest Strand; offered him a new life, away from Manhattan, into a city environment that was just a little smaller, where he could breathe a little easier, and become family to a team that absolutely adored him (after a while).

But the moment that Tk had to fabricate a lie as to why he was in his father's office, just to confront him about the pill bottle he found in the desk...

That broke him.

Tk stayed with his father for every appointment, every shift, nearly every hour, just to make sure he was okay. He was his father's number one fan, his cheerleader, his personal trainer, and eventually he roped Carlos into helping.

Carlos was the only silver lining to this situation. They were so past new, by this point, and Tk relied on him, because he couldn't rely on a father that did the same to him. Carlos was there from almost the beginning.

Tk had promised his father that he had his back, and then promptly sprinted to Carlos's apartment, and cried into his arms for what felt like hours. 

Lung cancer.

Of all the things that could threaten Owen Strand's near indestructible life, it had to be something that attacked from the inside; something that the only way he could fix it was to break him a little more. It scared the fuck out of Tk.

Because he knew why his father was sick.

There, in Carlos's arms, that night, Tk was back under his third grade desk, holding his hands above his head, crying, thinking about his father, and how much danger he was in. His heart raced in his chest, and he swore that Carlos could feel it against his chest, because the soft circles that he ran over Tk's trembling shoulder blades were so perfectly in time with the pounding in his ears.

And, yeah, he waited until he was shot to profess his love for the other, under the lights of a solar flare, but that night was the night that Tk was so sure that he was going to keep this man as long as he could.

_With closing eyes and resting head,_

That was two years ago, and now Tk and Carlos were celebrating his father's remission. 

It was a loud party. Carlos had invited a few mutual friends from AFD, while the rest of the 126 all sat back in the living area of the station, just having given a toast to the newly cancer-free Owen Strand. Tk was happy. He was beyond happy, actually. He was ecstatic, that his father was actually kicking cancer's ass, just like Tk had promised it would, but there was an unspoken worry clouding the younger's eyes. It was one that Tk tried to remember not to let on, but it was always in the back of his mind. Recently, though, Tk couldn't keep his nervousness at bay. 

Tk had a cough.

In any normal circumstances, he would have chocked it up to a chest cold, taken NyQuil, and slept it off.

But this was no normal circumstance.

The cough had started soon after he found out about his father's diagnosis. It started as a few asthma attacks, which he could usually take his inhaler for, and he did, but it grew into cold like symptoms, now, breathing issues in his sleep, his boyfriend anxiously shaking him awake when he heard Tk have a fit in the middle of the night.

And Carlos resented it, but Tk wouldn't care about himself until he didn't have to worry about his father.

Carlos had been there from the beginning. At least he liked to think he had. He knew all about Tk, at this point, why his name was his name, why he gets so nervous around alcohol, why he snakes his hands around Carlos's waist from behind, but never from the front, why he would flinch at the mention of Manhattan, and especially why he got panicky when his father would set another dry cough across the room to pound against Tk's eardrums.

Which means he knew all about the smoky classroom, and how the very same smoke gave his lover's father a very similar respiratory issue.

And he couldn't express enough how thankful he was that Tk was at least semi-okay after an incident like that.

But it was still so, so scary, because Carlos knew that in the snap of a finger, his boyfriend's body could turn on itself, and begin to slowly kill him, all because of that sad, terrifying situation that he was stuck inside of as a boy. 

And it did.

It happened six and a half months after Tk's father's remission announcement. Carlos got on one knee, and Tk barely had the breath to answer him, before he slumped back in the chair, breathing shallow and labored.

Tk was rushed to St. David's, with a terrified father and fiancé with him.

_I know that sleep is coming soon._

Owen had to approve an extensive medical leave for his son, even before the younger's diagnosis came back, because, even best case scenario, it's just a bad asthma attack, there was no way Owen was going to let him work around fires with a respiratory issue. It put everyone in danger, and all three of them knew it.

_Up on my pillow,_

But the day after, when the older man came to check in on his son, he found Carlos sobbing into his chest, his arms wrapped around a drowsy, crying Tk.

And he knew.

He also knew that, before this, Tk was awfully stubborn about going in for medical exams. Carlos had told him how worried he was about the other, and Owen listened, but Tk would always insist that he was fine. Nothing was going to hurt him that hadn't already, and Owen believed him.

None of them really believed him, but Owen tried to.

_Safe in bed._

Stage four.

The next few months showed enough promise, though, for the two to go ahead with the wedding. Tk was responding well to the treatment, besides the midnight bouts of nausea, and the chemo sessions (where they planned their wedding, anyway, because according to Tk, "I'm gonna marry him before I can't."), and the days off that Carlos undoubtedly had to make up for. 

Tk showed so much improvement, that they went through with the wedding.

It was a small ceremony, only the station, Tk's mother and father, and Carlos's family came. It was invite only, no plus ones, and a very, very small and intimate reception, because though Tk was getting better, the treatment really messed with him, and Carlos did not want to stress him out. It was pretty much Owen, Carlos, Carlos's mother, and Tk, renting out a small hall for a couple hours, playing music, and letting the newlyweds dance.

It was obvious that Carlos held him up when they danced together, though.

That was the last night that Tk responded to his chemotherapy.

And the next month, Tk came to the heartbreaking conclusion that this was going to kill him.

_A thousand pictures fill my head._

He told Carlos, first, seeing as he had taken an uber to the appointment because the other had to work. He ignored the stiffness in his joints, and the perpetual wheezing, just long enough to make him a nice dinner that night. When Carlos came home, though, Tk couldn't keep a front up. Carlos knew something was up the moment he saw Tk sitting with their most expensive bottle of merlot, something he swore was just for decoration, and never to drink, open in the center of their dinner table.

"What is all this?"

"Sit down, 'Los."

Tk proceeded to take the bottle in a shaky fist, and pull the tip of it to his lips.

There was a moment of clarity between the two, and when Carlos sat, he pulled his husband into his lap, both with teary eyes, and whispered, "You're not getting better, are you?"

The silence in the room was deafening when Tk shook his head.

_I cannot sleep_

Carlos dropped his wine glass, the shatter shaking Tk into a gentle panic. The boy's thin hair brushed gently against Carlos's, a few strands getting caught in his husband's stubble. Though Carlos was crying, Tk didn't try to wipe his tears like he usually did. He couldn't. He was exhausted, and so warm in Carlos's arms, hoping that moment never ended. It was a painful beauty, two lovers holding each other, wine and glass sprawled across the floor beneath them. The room was lit only by a dim lamp from the living room, and the warm glow of the light over the kitchen table. It was a painting, frozen in the honey colored glow.

And of course Carlos had to ruin it.

"Does your dad know?"

"He can't yet."

Tk wasn't true to his word, though, for half an hour later, he was sitting on the bed, sobbing into his husband's bare chest. finger hovering over the FaceTime button on his cracked iPhone screen.

"Hey, T."

"Can you come over?"

"Are you crying?"

"Please, come over, Dad, just for a few minutes."

And when Carlos opened the door after a few minutes, the look on his face was enough to tell Owen that something was seriously wrong.

Tk was coughing miserably in the living room, a small bucket in his arms, replacing Carlos in his usual spot.

When Owen saw the bloodied tissues in the bucket, accompanied bu the slight pink tint to his teeth, he knew immediately what was going to transpire within the next few months. He also knew for a fact that he would never be able to handle it. So, with shaky hands, Owen pushed himself into the room, looking up at his son once he knelt by the shivering figure on the couch.

"How long, T?"

Tk would be lying if those weren't the most painful words he'd ever heard his father mutter, other than, "Since before we left New York."

Their roles were switched, now, and though Tk was dealing with his own ailment, he needed to be there for his father's, as well. He decided to reach for his wrist, his wedding band glinting softly in the dim living room. The TV was playing old sitcom reruns, almost drowning out his thoughts, and how much pain he was in, watching his father and husband slowly emotionally unravel in front of him.

"I stopped treatment."

"That's not what I asked you."

"A month."

The room fell silent once more, except for the ironic laugh track playing in the background. Tk let out another cough, wheezing slightly while his father wrapped his arm around him. He lifted him up, hand snaking behind his head. He gently pressed a kiss to his son's forehead, pulling away to see his own tear droplets weaving themselves through his son's sparse eyebrows.

Both Tk and Carlos knew that Owen would do anything for his son, and this was tearing him apart.

"I've got you, T."

"I don't want to die, Dad."

"I know, Tk."

At this point, though, they had no choice in the matter.

_My mind's a flight._

_And, yet, my limbs seem made of lead._

Three and a half weeks pass where Carlos is so terrified of waking up next to a dead husband that he doesn't sleep at all.

Until one day, he awakens feeling different, and he can tell that Tk just _knows._

"I want to go to the river," Tk whispered into his ear, his green eyes searching for comfort and sanctuary in Carlos's mocha ones. When he looks up, though, Tk can only find red hot fear in his husband's gaze.

"Can you walk?"

"No."

The reply would have been sarcastic in any other context, but Tk was being genuine in that moment. He hadn't been able to for a few nights. The very idea of standing was enough to make his knees buckle, and his legs go numb. Breathing was difficult, now. Tk was on oxygen, now, and he had made sure a copy of his will was printed and saved on both his and Carlos's laptop. He had come to terms with dying, but-

Carlos was staring at him with his clenched jaw and teary eyes, having freshly shaved. He had a faint five o'clock shadow, and his strong arms weren't doing anything but holding his frail husband.

He didn't want to leave this.

But he had to.

Tk looked over Carlos's shoulder at the silver wedding band that had recently made a home on his husband's bedside table. It had slipped off of Tk while he walked to use the restroom, and he made the decision to give it to Carlos for safekeeping. He sighed with gentle effort, eyes turned ing back up to stare at his lover. "Can you get it resized? I don't want to be buried without it."

That was the point where Carlos's strong facade fell into an incessant, horrified river of emotion. The tears fell immediately after the question was asked, and Carlos nodded quickly.

"'Los," Tk murmured, his hand reaching up to weakly cup the other's cheek. He swallowed hard, shaking his head. "It's okay, Carlos, hey," he whispered. "Baby, don't do this right now. You don't have to cry yet. Cry at the jewelers, or at the station, or in the shower, like I know you do, but please just... I'm not gone yet, Carlos. I don't want to be the reason you cry."

Carlos rolled over after a gentle nod, and a kiss to his husband's forehead. He threw the covers off of him, rounding the bed to help Tk out of his side. "C'mon, you need a shower."

"Carlos, I can't-"

"I've got you." 

Carlos picked him up with ease, halfway surprising the other, who was still under the impression that he was well over a hundred pounds. Tk caved almost immediately, though, when those beautiful caramel arms began to hold him up. His feet dragged slowly against the floor, trying to keep up with the slow pace that Carlos set as he walked to the bathroom. The taller set him down on the counter, reaching beneath the hem of his shirt with tender fingertips of one hand, while he used the other to hold his arms up. 

Tk flinched at the feeling of being bare skinned against a bathroom mirror, but he didn't complain when Carlos finished undressing him. Bath water was flowing, now, though, and Tk looked at it with a tense stare.

"I don't want to die in a bathtub, Carlos."

And though it broke him, Carlos picked up the other and placed him sitting up in the warm water. "Then I'll make it quick, cariño, and we can go to the river."

The relief on Tk's expression was quick, but Carlos still had that apprehensive clench to his jaw, even when he worked shampoo into his husband's thin hair. His fingers slowly massaged his scalp, feeling Tk lean into the touch. Carlos was crouched by the tub. hands about to reach for the shower head when Tk spoke up.

"I never thought it would turn out like this."

"Like what?"

"Like this," The other cracked his eyes open, meeting the chocolate gaze once again. "Sitting here, getting babied by someone who loves me enough to baby me."

"You're sick. I'm not babying you." Carlos turned the knob to get water through the shower head, standing to grab the detachable faucet and rinse Tk's hair. "You are my baby, though."

There was a faint smile that Carlos caught, but it's cut off by another shaky cough. Tk didn't even try to cover his mouth there, yet Carlos knew he wanted to. A couple crimson droplets fell into the clear water beneath him.

_If there are noises_

Carlos grabbed a wash cloth from behind him, dipping it in the bath water and wiping at Tk's lips.

"You're okay."

"I wanna go to the river, 'Los, please."

The world fell away when he said that, because Carlos knew why he felt different. He could feel it for days, but today, the melancholy haze was overwhelming. He was so sad; so afraid, that Tk was going to be lost before he could go to the river; the spot where Tk had taken Carlos's hand, and told him that they made a pretty good team.

They really did, but they couldn't be a team without each other.

_In the night,_

Carlos eventually lifted his husband from the water, dressing him in a shirt that Owen had gotten him for his birthday, and a pair of drawstring sweatpants that could adapt to the meager waistline of the man. He laid him back in bed, kissing his cheek. "I'm going to shower, okay? Then, we go."

_A frightening shadow,_

They spent the rest of the day at their reserved clearing, laying there, hands in each other's, Carlos nearly force feeding Tk water until the other insisted if he drank anymore that he may throw up.

And then Carlos pulled out the second half of the merlot, as the sun began to set, and raised his eyebrows. "It's getting late."

_Flickering light._

Tk gave him a dull, confused look, but managed to maneuver himself so he was looking up at his husband, heart racing. The sky was dim, a purple hue placed behind Carlos's chiseled features. He pursed his lips, and sighed. "Give me some."

"Tk, I-"

"I don't want to feel this either, Carlos."

Tk felt the chill of the bottle against his lips, and took in a few drops before Carlos decided that he didn't want to intoxicate the other too much.

It was a selfish endeavor, because he knew that Tk knew. He knew that it was time for his husband to depart, and Carlos wouldn't be able to handle that without at least half a bottle of seventy year old aged wine.

And several shots after.

_Then I surrender unto sleep._

"Look at me." Tk's voice snapped Carlos out of his emotional daze, and back into the angry world; the world that was taking his love away from him. 

"What?"

"I want you to call Grace after- I mean, we have this whole thing worked out, but I can't have my dad pick me up, okay? I pulled some strings with Judd and if you ask for her she'll know-"

"Stop it."

There was the first cough in a long line of them.

Carlos's hand instinctively flew to the back of Tk's head, gently pushing him up to breathe a little easier.

_Where clouds of dream_

"Carlos just listen to me, please."

"You can't don this, T, please, I-"

"I know you know I have no choice."

_Give second sight._

"Kiss me."

Tk looked up at him, his features only being illuminated by the dull, blurry city lighting, and reached his hand to the back of Carlos's neck, hoping the other would get the message.

He did, though, and at his signal, Carlos crashed his lips against his husband's, their tears mixing in a puddle beneath them. It seemed like an eternity, where they were stuck together by the mouth, lips moving in harmony. Tk's hand dropped to the small of his husband's back, and he couldn't help but cough again, a wheeze sounding, loud enough to get Carlos to pull away, lips painted red.

"I love you."

"I know you do."

_What dreams may come both dark and deep,_

Carlos placed his hands on Tk's cheeks, trying to steady him as his gaze faltered.

"You were the best thing that ever happened to me," Tk breathed, his hand reaching up to touch Carlos's. He held on, his fingers curling around the palm of the other.

_Of flying wings and soaring leap,_

Carlos leaned down, pressing his forehead to the clammy skin of the other's, swallowing hard. "I'll see you soon, Tk Strand."

"I look forward to it, Carlos Reyes."

"Strand-Reyes."

"Not for long."

"Tk-"

"Ill always be here, 'Los, okay? I will always listen, and I will always love you. I love you so much. I l-" He was cut off again, but regained his composure enough to say it again. "I love you so much."

_As I surrender unto sleep,_

"You better not be lying."

_As I surrender unto sleep,_

"I would never lie to you."

_As I surrender unto sleep,_

There was a brief moment where Tk smiled, and Carlos took it in, drinking in every last detail of his face. he wiped his thumb across Tk's lips, pulling his forehead back just gently enough to not disturb the man beneath him. He felt his breath catch in his throat right as Tk's did. The other's hand loosened around his, his gaze growing fuzzy and unfocused. The corners of his mouth dropped into a faint grin, undoubtedly how the muscles got stuck.

Carlos broke.

He let the dam burst, using his able arms to pull the body to his chest, his tears soaking into the fabric of Tk's maroon shirt, similar in color against the bloodstains. He stayed like that for hours, listening to the crickets, and the hustle and bustle of the city from across the river. There was no gentle breathing next to him. There were no tiny snores coming from the limp man in front of him.

He was too quiet, and Carlos couldn't deal with that.

"I'm so sorry, Ty," Carlos whimpered, reaching for his phone to carry out one of Tk's dying wishes.

_Sleep._

"I need to speak to Grace Ryder, please, its- It's my husband."

_Sleep._

The woman was on the other line almost immediately, and there was a soft realization in her voice when Carlos sobbed into the phone. "Carlos."

_Sleep._

"Grace, I tried so- he said, he said you wouldn't send Owen."

_Sleep._

"This isn't Owen's department, sweetheart. Are you home?"

"I'm at the river, he wanted to come, so we could look at the stars again, you know the spot- I- Grace, he can't-"

"Ive got everything figured out, Carlos, just wait there."

_Sleep._

"He can't."

"Sweetheart..."

That was the moment that Carlos's phone slid from his fingertips, falling to the ground beside the two men. This was it. This was what he'd been so afraid of since the first cough.

He was gone.

_Sleep._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it; please let me know what you thought in the comments! Thank you! 
> 
> I highly suggest listening to the song this goes with. It's a choral song, but it is genuinely one of the most beautiful, emotional songs I have ever heard. Let me know what you want to see next!
> 
> that's all, folks!  
> signing off,  
> trickster.


End file.
